


Incendiary

by novaberry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Christianity, Dubious Consent, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novaberry/pseuds/novaberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler figures some shit out, thanks to fandom.<br/>(Jeff Davis is, sometimes, Voldemort)</p><p>**This story is <span class="u">fiction</span>. It is not intended to imply anything about the actors who inspired it.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [and_the_damned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_the_damned/gifts).



Season 3, episode 19: Incendiary.

 

Tyler reads page 16 again. And again. He thinks he may be on the fifth attempt when Dylan bursts through the door to his trailer.

“Did you? Is this--” Dylan stops just inside the door, mouth working as he flails, shaking the script in Tyler’s direction. “Is this a joke?”

“Dude, I have no idea.” Tyler shakes his head, thinking his eyes must be as wide as Dylan’s for once.

“Well!” Dylan sputters, cheeks ruddy, waving the script at Tyler again almost expectantly.

“What?”

“Are you going to do something about it? Or just sit there like a potato?”

Tyler rarely feels older than Dylan, but with Dylan so completely (uncharacteristically) flustered, he realizes he’s going to have to take the lead...like an adult. Or as he imagines an adult would.

“Uh, I guess we should talk to Jeff?”

 

Jeff laughs at them. “You really didn’t see this coming?”

“Come on, man! You cannot seriously mean this. This--I...it’s not...URGH.”

Dylan’s words fail him again and Tyler’s forced to step up, though he’s pretty sure it’s futile.

“This doesn’t exactly further any of the story lines we’re currently--”

“Guys! It’s called fan service. Every show has to do it and we’ve been teasing this part of the fan base long enough. It’s time to deliver. And look, we’ve written it as a one off, okay? You two will be back to annoying each other and pining after girls (and boys, where Stiles is concerned) in the very next episode.”

“Oh my god! In the _real show_ , Derek and Stiles can’t like, get sex pollened and fuck for...” Dylan pauses, squinting at the script theatrically, “TWENTY-FOUR HOURS--really Jeff?--and then just act like it didn’t happen!”

Jeff looks at Dylan thoughtfully. “What bothers you most? Derek and Stiles fucking or Derek and Stiles forgetting they’ve done it?” Jeff lights up suddenly. “Oh, that’s kind of great, actually. What if only Derek remembers?  Or--”

“Jeff! Someone already wrote that, too! You are not doing anything original here, you’re just plagiarizing fan girls!” Dylan throws up his hands and walks off.

Jeff raises his eyebrows and focuses on Tyler. “I sort of expected you to be more upset about this than Dylan.”

Tyler shrugs. “I mean, I don’t know how comfortable I’ll be when it comes down to filming, but I separated my faith from my work a long time ago. It’s just acting.”

“Thanks, Tyler. Can you please explain that to Dylan?”

 

Tyler finds Dylan in his trailer, pacing and chewing his thumbnail ragged. When Tyler finally gets to the root of the problem, the warm, glowy affection he feels for Dylan almost chokes him.

“You are ridiculous,” Tyler says, when he can trust himself not to say anything too sappy. Dylan is a huge sap, but he hates sappy language thrown in his direction.

“No, I’m not.” He’s stops pacing long enough to look Tyler in the eye, so serious and intense that Tyler has to force himself not to look away. “I don’t share your beliefs, but I respect you. I just, I don’t want to be part of something that makes you feel uncomfortable or...I don’t know...compromised?”

Tyler is a hands-on kind of guy, like most of the people on set, so he feels perfectly comfortable grabbing Dylan in a rough hug and squeezing until Dylan laughs. He steps back, grinning hard enough that his face may break, but keeps his hands on Dylan’s bony shoulders.

“I say again, you are ridiculous.” He pats one of Dylan’s cheeks. “You’re also a great friend. I appreciate your support, but really, Dylan, I wouldn’t be an actor if things like this compromised my faith or threatened my sexuality.”

“Yeah?” Dylan studies him intently for another long minute and then he smiles, but it’s kind of an evil smile. “Cool. Then I guess it’s time we give the people what they want, huh?” 

 

Tyler reads the script a few times before they shoot. Pages sixteen and on provide the outline of Derek losing control and carefully, thoroughly working Stiles over again and again, until Deaton finds them and de-roofies Derek. Deaton then pulls an MIB-type mind wipe on both Derek and Stiles, even though Stiles is described as being “not completely upset about the whole de-virginization thing”.

Tyler shakes his head. This is going to be a challenge.

 

_“Derek, no!”_

_Stiles knocks the flower out of Derek’s hand, but it’s too late, Derek’s already inhaled and it’s the loveliest, lightest, most exhilarating thing he’s ever smelled. He shoves Stiles, careless of the way the kid stumbles back and lands on his ass, and grabs the flower, nearly stuffing it up his nose in his desperation for more of that scent._

_Stiles tries to pry it from his hands and Derek is suddenly hit with an even more alluring scent. He grabs Stiles’ wrist, flower dropping forgotten to the floor, and runs his nose up Stiles’ arm, sniffing heavily at his armpit._

_Stiles struggles and squawks when Derek yanks at his shirts, stripping Stiles with an impatient growl._

“Cut! Good work, guys! Let’s try it again. Tyler, let’s have Derek bite Stiles this time before stripping him.”

 

They wrap at three AM. They’re cold and tired and hungry, but Jeff seems genuinely pleased with what they’ve done, so it’s probably worth it. Tyler follows Dylan to his trailer because they’re both too tired to drive home and Dylan says he has enough leftover lasagna for two.

Tyler sits in one of the bar stools--elbows on the counter, chin propped on his folded arms--and watches Dylan move about the tiny kitchen. He’s just quietly enjoying the moment until he realizes that the pinked-up skin on Dylan’s neck, the extra color in Dylan’s mouth and cheeks, is from _his_ stubble. He licks his lips, feels the heat there, and knows that his mouth is also raw from all the Derek and Stiles kissing.

He and Dylan have kissed. He knows the taste of Dylan’s mouth, the texture of his skin.

“Parmesan?”

Tyler starts, going hot all over when he realizes that Dylan’s looking at him, probably caught him staring. Dylan just smiles at him though, eyes warm and fond, and Tyler can’t keep his gaze from dropping back to Dylan’s mouth as Dylan prompts, “Yes? No? Maybe so?”

“Yes, please.”

They eat and move to the little living room to watch stupid youtube videos. Dylan falls asleep in a few minutes, listing toward Tyler’s side of the couch, mouth open on quiet snores. Tyler grabs the comforter and pillow from Dylan’s bed, settles Dylan onto his side and tucks him in before returning to his own trailer.

Tyler falls asleep with one hand to his mouth, fingertips brushing the sensitized skin, thinking that if he was gay, he’d probably be in trouble.

 

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler + Tequila + Dylan = dub-con sexytimes.  
> 

Tyler’s not prepared for the nervous churning in his gut when he sees Dylan next day, sitting in the sunlight and reading over the new script with Posey and Holland.

When Posey sees Tyler approaching, he reaches for Dylan, cackling maniacally.

“No!” Dylan yelps, trying to deflect Posey’s grabby hands, but Posey gets a grip on Dylan’s collar and tugs it aside. Tyler and everyone standing nearby get an eyeful of the patchy red marks on Dylan’s neck and collarbones.

“Nice work, wolfman!”

Tyler’s frozen for a moment, caught completely off guard by the heat that swoops through his belly, the weird sense of pride that  _he_  did that to Dylan. He shakes it off almost violently and grins at Posey.

“Thanks!”  Tyler’s learned that it’s best, especially on this set, to leave the clever comebacks to others.

Then he feels like a jerk because he’s had girlfriends tell him just how unpleasant it is to have some dude mark you up with their sandpaper-rough beard. He tries to catch Dylan’s gaze, but Dylan’s locked in some silent war of wills with Posey. He does not look pleased.

“Hey, Dylan?”

Dylan glares at Posey for another second before looking up at Tyler and raising his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t realize I was...uh, doing that.”

“Wow.” Holland interjects, rubbing her hands together and smiling. “I really can’t wait to see this footage.”

Tyler’s surprised again that someone with such inherently innocent features can manage to look so...sleazy? Perverted? Both?

Dylan waves dismissively. “It’s okay, really. It doesn’t hurt or anything. Don’t worry about it. Just get some food and have a seat.” He holds up their latest script, which Tyler hasn’t seen yet. “You won’t _believe_ what Voldemort does next.”

That’s what they call Jeff when he’s done something that’s really going to upset their fanbase. Like, killing off some of Derek's perfectly lovely betas.

Tyler grins, grateful to Dylan for making everything so easy. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Tyler’s cool. Dylan’s cool. _They're_ cool, except...Tyler keeps getting hit with these sense memories--his hands on Dylan’s skin, the feel of Dylan underneath him, all that wiry strength and heat trapped between his thighs...When they were filming and Tyler got hard from holding Dylan down, taking Dylan’s mouth (almost) against his will, Tyler thought he’d just been channeling Derek, caught up in what _Derek_  would feel if he was sex-pollened. It's becoming increasingly difficult to believe that.

Tyler wakes up from another wet dream--the third in two days--about Stiles/Dylan and wonders if this is what it's like to have a midlife crisis.

 

The next week, Jeff invites them over for a barbecue and even though Tyler's been avoiding Dylan, he doesn’t think twice about attending. Posey and Dylan will be joined at the hip, even if Posey brings Seana. She seems to find their antics pretty delightful.

He has a few beers and spends most of the afternoon hanging out on the deck with Holland and a couple of guys from the crew.

“Hoechlin! Get in here!” Posey shouts, waving at Tyler from the back door.

“Why?” Tyler’s had enough to drink to shout back.

Holland covers her ears and glares. “Baboons! 

“Just come on!”

Tyler shrugs and heads inside, raising his brows when he sees Dylan walking around Jeff's living room with an upside-down hat filled with brightly colored scraps of paper.

"Howdy, stranger," Dylan drawls when he gets to Tyler, offering the hat with a manic grin.

"Howdy, yourself." Tyler gives him a lazy grin in return and draws a barely legible number 7 (or is it a 1?).

Dylan grabs it from him, reads it and scowls.

Before Tyler can find out what Dylan has against the number 7, Posey starts talking.

“All right: if you’re an odd number, you’re on my team. Even numbers are on Dylan’s team."

“Okay...” Tyler says. “And what are we doing? 

“Wrestling!”

 

Posey makes them take off their shirts and informs them that, “Each time you win, you have to take a shot of Tequila. You also get to pick who you want to wrestle next.”

No one else seems knows much about real wrestling, so they’re just tussling until someone taps out. Tyler, who wrestled a bit in college, has beaten four guys--and had four tequila shots--by the time he calls out Dylan, who's managed not to wrestle at all. He’s been lounging on the couch, all lanky and relaxed, laughing and providing obnoxious (hilarious) commentary on the "bouts".

When Tyler points to him, Dylan slowly stands and holds out his hands.

“Tyler, heyyyy buddy. Wouldn’t you rather do this with someone who’s like, a challenge? How about Max?”

“Nope. I don’t want a challenge, I want you.”

Dylan blushes, he actually blushes, and someone hoots, “He wants YOU, Dylan!”

Tyler’s not sure what all the commotion’s about. He eyes Dylan steadily until Dylan gives in and moves to the center of the room, crouching in a sad attempt at a square stance. Tyler finds Dylan’s defeated little face completely adorable and decides to draw the match out as long as possible. Maybe it won’t be so bad, if it looks like he gave Tyler some kind of fight.

“Go!” Posey orders and Tyler dives, laughing delightedly when Dylan meets him head on.

Dylan’s big hands are like brands on his shoulders, but Tyler’s too sweaty for Dylan to get a decent grip. Tyler ducks and hooks an arm around Dylan’s waist, tossing him flat on his back. Dylan’s quick enough to roll out of the hold and he makes it into a crouch before Tyler’s on him again. This time Tyler puts him down face-first, straddling his hips as Dylan bucks and tries to squirm his way out 

“Food’s ready!”

At Jeff’s announcement, the living room empties out and Dylan goes limp, but Tyler keeps a hold of him

“You gonna let me up?” Dylan asks, one side of his face flat to the carpet.

“No, you can get out of this. Do it.”

“Dude, you’ve got like, twice my muscle mass. I can barely breathe, much less fight you off.”

Tyler grunts and manhandles Dylan over, pinning him when he tries to make a break for it. Tyler clamps his thighs around Dylan’s sharp hips and leans his forearm across Dylan’s sweaty chest, using enough pressure to keep him down, not constrict his breathing. 

Dylan’s hands skitter across Tyler’s back and shoulders, trying and failing to find purchase. He gives up with a huff.

“Come onnnn, I’m starving!”

“Great, so you’ve got plenty of motivation.” Tyler grins at him and Dylan looks at him like he’s crazy.

Suddenly Dylan’s mouth drops open and his eyes go very, very wide.

“Are you okay?” Tyler hunches forward, letting up a bit on Dylan’s chest.

Dylan closes his eyes and Tyler stares, mesmerized by the sight of long eyelashes against flushed cheeks. He lifts his free hand and brushes his thumb across the dark fan of them before touching Dylan’s bottom lip. 

Dylan jerks beneath him and Tyler cups his cheek, “What’s wrong?”

“You--you’re, um.” Dylan’s voice is low, almost a whisper. Tyler leans in further. “I can feel your  _dick_ , man.”

Tyler shifts his hips and Dylan gasps.

“Oh, yeah. I can feel yours, too.” Tyler frowns. “This--unhh, the same thing happened when we--”

Dylan laughs and shakes his head, and Tyler loves Dylan’s laugh, but not this one. He lets more of his weight rest on Dylan’s hips and Dylan stops the ugly laughing.

“ _Stop_!" Dylan glares at him, hissing, "You’re gonna make me jizz my pants.”

"Really?"

Tyler would like that. He's about to have the same problem, especially if Dylan keeps trying to get away. He loves the way it feels, Dylan’s body straining against his like this. Tyler's gaze dips to Dylan's mouth. He knows that it's as soft and pliable and hot and greedy as it looks. He's about to taste it again when Posey starts yelling from outside.

“Hey, guys! You’re gonna miss the food!”

They hear him before he rounds the corner and Tyler can tell from Dylan’s panicked expression that it’s time to let him go. Tyler feels so warm and horny though, so good all over, that it takes every ounce of willpower he’s got to roll off of Dylan.

He watches Dylan shoot up and out of the room, heading toward the bathroom, and just laughs when Posey says, “Guess he really had to pee, huh?”

Posey does a double-take and gapes at Tyler. "Are you _giggling_?"

 

Tyler remembers everything within about thirty seconds of waking, the sheets stuck to him with sweat and come. He peels them back with a grimace, realizing that dry-humping Dylan at Jeff's barbecue probably gave his usual Derek-mounting-Stiles dream an extra edge.

They’re not filming today, which means he doesn’t have face Dylan in person, but he does need to take steps to fix this. He’s not brave enough to call, so he sends a text.

 _Hey, man. I’m so sorry about the wrestling._  

He doesn’t want to be more specific than that in writing, so he just hopes Dylan gets it. He also doesn’t want to be one of those creeps who blame their shitty, unacceptable behavior on booze, though he’s pretty sure the tequila played a factor.

It takes Dylan forever (thirty minutes) to respond and by that time Tyler’s just about worked up a full blown stomach ulcer.

 _It’s fine. Just caught me off guard. We’re good, I promise._  

Tyler doubts that very much. As usual, he’s humbled by Dylan’s kindness. His reply is inadequate, but all he can manage. 

 _Thanks, Dylan._  

He’s stepping out of the shower about an hour later when there’s a knock at his apartment door. He tugs on a clean pair of track pants, as he hollers, “Be right there!”

Derek opens the door and stares at his visitor blankly.

"We need to talk," Dylan says.

Tyler thinks he may throw up, but he says, "Okay."

Dylan doesn't wait for Tyler to recover his wits. He just puts a hand on Tyler's bare chest and steps forward, pushing Tyler back and shutting the door behind them.

"So..." Dylan begins, after a few minutes of pacing Tyler's living room. "I thought we were okay, after the whole sex-pollen episode. Now I'm a lot less sure."

"I'm sorry. I screwed up, so badly. I can't believe I--" Tyler stares at the floor, stomach churning.

"Oh, my god! _No_ , Tyler..." Dylan's suddenly in his space, kneeling in front of Tyler with his hands on Tyler's knees.

Tyler lifts his head and finds Dylan looking at him earnestly.

"I'm absolutely fine, I swear." He grins. "It's not like that's the first time one of my drunk friends tried to dry-hump me." The amusement is gone as quickly as it appeared and he squeezes Tyler's knees, again giving Tyler that intensely earnest look. "But I'm pretty sure you've never done that to one of your friends, right? That's why I'm here. That's why I want to talk. There was never any reason to worry about _me_."

Tyler can't believe it. Dylan is unbelievable.

"You are ridiculous," Tyler says simply. "I _accosted_ you and you're worried about _me_?"

"Well, yeah! That's some pretty uncharacteristic behavior. What's going on with you?"

Tyler closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he debates what, if anything, he can share with Dylan. Dylan, who always puts others first. Who's too generous for his own good, especially to Tyler, who couldn't be less deserving.

"Is it..." Dylan fills the silence, probably out of habit. "I don't think this has anything to do with me, I promise, but are you like, having some sort of sexual identity crisis?"

Tyler's heart stutters and his eyes fly open. He was not expecting Dylan to lay it out there like that.

Dylan lifts his hands and hurriedly apologizes. "Sorry! That was--"

Tyler shakes his head. "It has everything to do with you." Tyler's tired of lying, even to himself. "I think. I mean, I guess it could be Stiles?"

"Oh, wow. Uh, are you saying--"

"I don't know what I'm saying! I just...I keep dreaming about fucking you!"

Dylan rocks back onto his heels, looking completely flabbergasted. Tyler follows, leaning forward to cup the back of Dylan's neck, not letting Dylan look away.

"I actually thought...I thought I was channeling Derek when we did the scene and I, uh-- _liked_ it so much." 

Dylan continues to stare at Tyler in shock, his busy mouth dropped open, cheeks blooming red, heating up like the smooth skin beneath Tyler's palm. Tyler keeps talking, though it's the most embarrassing thing he's ever had to do. 

"I--I keep having these dreams about getting my hands, my _mouth_ , on you though. Holding you down and making you take...god, whatever I want." Tyler laughs bitterly and releases Dylan. He drags a palm across his face, sighing heavily. "Sorry, man. I just, I feel like I'm going crazy."

"No, it's okay," Dylan says, sounding dazed. "I wanted you to talk to me. Just, _wow_." 

He abruptly stands and, of course, loses his balance.

Tyler immediately catches hold of his hips, steadying him, and they both freeze. Probably due to the proximity of Dylan's erection to Tyler's face. Tyler's fingers spasm, clamping down on Dylan's hips as heat rushes through him, followed by a wave of want so strong that it leaves him dizzy.

"Oh, my god--" 

_"Dylan," _Tyler breathes, shooting to his feet to grip Dylan's face, cut Dylan's mortified stuttering off with a hard kiss. He feels out of control, his body buzzing with pent up frustration. He licks at Dylan's mouth and Dylan lets him in, grabbing onto Tyler's shoulders like he's afraid he'll lose his balance again.__

Tyler's not drunk or acting, Tyler's making out with Dylan because he _wants_ to make out with Dylan: no excuses or apologies.


	3. 3

Tyler's never kissed someone so close to his own height or strength. He noticed it when they were filming, but now he can enjoy it. He sucks Dylan's tongue into his mouth, unsurprised to note that Dylan tastes of Dr. Pepper, and drops one hand to knead at Dylan's ass.  
  
Dylan moans into the kiss and rubs up against Tyler like a cat, this full body press that hits Tyler like an electric shock, makes his dick jerk.

It's not until Dylan stomps on his foot that he realizes that Dylan's trying to shove him off.

"Ow!" Tyler lets go and Dylan stumbles halfway across the living room to lean against the bookshelf. He looks flustered and gorgeous, and really, really turned-on, but when Tyler starts after him, he throws up a hand.

"Stop, right there!"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just want you to think about this, okay? Correct me if I'm wrong, but up until a few weeks ago, you had no idea you might like guys, right?"

"Right." Tyler sighs and adjusts his hardon, tucking it against his belly, beneath the waistband of his track pants.

"Jesus, Tyler! Put that away!"

Tyler glances down and sees that the tip peeking out. He thumbs at it, muttering, "Sorry."

"Shit." Dylan presses a palm against his own hardon, which Tyler finds utterly distracting. "What was I...Oh! So basically, I am not okay with being your big, gay experiment. I mean, I _am_ , as long as I don't think it's going to end with you having a nervous breakdown and/or hating me. Also, I've never really fucked around with guys, so I may not be the best person to introduce you to gay sex."

It's really hard to think past the throbbing heat in his dick, but Tyler knows he has to try.

"Okay, first off, there is no way on earth I could ever hate you. Second, I want to do this with you because you're you, not some...I don't know, sex guru."

Dylan studies him through narrowed eyes. "I'm pretty sure you'd say anything to get me to suck you off right now, but what the hell, I'll take it."

Tyler tackles him with a half-laugh, half-groan.

 

After stripping off Dylan's shirt and pants, Tyler tosses Dylan onto his bed and takes a moment to look at him. He's all pale, lanky limbs, lean muscle and anime underwear.

"Sexy!" Tyler teases, snapping the elastic band low on Dylan's hips and laughing.

"Shut up. What are you even _doing_?" Dylan whines, sitting up and reaching for Tyler impatiently.

The movement pushes Dylan's dick through the slit in his boxers. Tyler stares at it for a shocked second before dropping heavily next to Dylan, feeling clumsy and stupid, heart racing as he works his fist into Dylan's shorts.

Dylan yelps and flops back, hips jumping when Tyler's fingers close around the hot, smooth flesh of his shaft. Tyler quickly realizes that Dylan's dick works just like his, but, like the rest of Dylan, it's far more obviously responsive.

"Shit, Dylan--you're _wet_."" Tyler thumbs at the slick head, his own dick pulsing when Dylan jerks in his grip, coating Tyler's fist with a fresh blurt of pre-come.

"Yeah," Dylan breathes, staring at Tyler dumbstruck, mouth open as he pants, shifting up and into Tyler's touch. "Tyler, _Tyler_."

Tyler's blood rushes and he releases Dylan just long enough to tear off the stupid-cute underwear and trip out of his own pants. He straddles Dylan, rubbing their naked dicks together before fisting them and dipping to suck at Dylan's gasping mouth. He works them over, an easy pumping motion that gets them both slick with Dylan's pre-come. Tyler glances down and moans into Dylan's mouth. His dick is nearly purple, the head swollen dark and thick, while Dylan's is boyish pink, slender, but just as hard. He twists his hand and Dylan shudders and shakes, whimpering into their kiss.

Tyler loves it. There's something about having sex with someone so close to his own size and strength that makes Tyler feel like...he doesn't have to be careful. Dylan can take whatever he dishes out. He'd only had the vaguest idea what it might be like, but his fantasies after shooting _Incendiary_ had nothing on the real thing. Tyler pulls back enough to look at Dylan--brilliant, _mouthy_ Dylan--and finds him gone, a stupid, gorgeous wreck, because of Tyler.  
  
Tyler lets go of their dicks and moves his slick, sweaty hands to Dylan's jaw. Dylan seems to come back to himself a little, though his eyes are big and darker than Tyler's ever seen, the light brown iris swallowed by pupil.

Dylan touches Tyler's face before sliding his hands across Tyler's shoulders, palming Tyler's chest.

"You're..." Dylan starts to say something, but stops, staring at his hands on Tyler's body.  
  
Tyler moves his hips, drives his dick against Dylan's in a tight, teasing circle. "What? Tell me."  
  
"Unhh, _fuck_." Dylan sits up and moves his hands to Tyler's ass, gripping Tyler hard. Tyler's struck by the strength in Dylan's slender hands; it sends a jolt of heat from his gut to his dick.

"Tell me," Tyler insists, clenching his thighs smiling at the Dylan's full-body shiver.  
  
"Okay..." Dylan relents, speaking in a rough, barely audible whisper. "I guess I just don't get how I could've possib-- _ungh_ \--possibly caused your, oh! Gaydentity crisis-- _fuhhh_ , d-do that again!"

Tyler obligingly thumbs at Dylan's nipple again.

"You did cause it though," Tyler says honestly.

Dylan says, "But you're so hot, really, _so hot_ , and I'm...me. It's not--"

" _You_ made me want to touch another guy's dick. With my mouth." He flashes a smile at Dylan's flummoxed expression and scoots halfway down Dylan's body.  
  
"No, you really are too pretty--"  
  
"You're ridiculous." Tyler cuts Dylan off, nipping at the hot skin under his mouth and petting Dylan, long strokes of his palms from Dylan's chest to his thighs.

Most of Dylan's body hair is on his arms and legs, just the barest sprinkling of dark hair on his chest and belly, and his skin is so smooth, soft as a girl's...His dick knocks against Tyler's stubbled cheek, flushed and full-to-bursting, it makes Tyler's stomach dip and twist with sudden nerves.  
  
He quickly closes his eyes and turns, sucking the overheated flesh into his mouth, can't help but make a little surprised sound at the feel of it. Dylan shudders and whines high in his throat. Tyler hopes that's a good thing. He's never done this before, never wanted it, but it's _Dylan_ in his mouth, Dylan's pulse against his tongue. Dylan trembles under Tyler's hands, curls his fingers into Tyler's hair, pulls at him mindlessly.  
  
Tyler breathes deep, inhaling Dylan. The scent of musky, sweaty boy makes Tyler's mouth flood and he starts sucking Dylan in earnest, working to take more of Dylan inside. Dylan moans and moves one hand off Tyler to punch the bed. Tyler looks up, past Dylan's heaving belly and chest, and finds Dylan's eyes on him, and _God_ \--the way Dylan's looking at him.  
  
Tyler groans around his mouthful and gets a hand on his own dick, rough and tight. He starts jerking himself, matching the rhythm of his mouth on Dylan, the curl of his hand on Dylan's shaft, and it's good, why is everything with Dylan _so good_? He lets Dylan slip from his mouth, fisting it as he moves down to suckle, mouth at Dylan's sac.  
  
"Ah! _Tyler_!"  
  
Dylan's head slams back into the mattress, orgasm wracking his whole frame. It's too much, feeling Dylan stripe his fingers in sticky-hot fluid. The feel and smell of it, of Dylan, fills his nostrils, and he breaks, head dropped to Dylan's hip, streaking Dylan's leg, the sheets beneath them.

 

"Damn," Dylan says a few minutes later, pulling Tyler from a light doze. 

"What?" Tyler lifts his head from Dylan's thigh, wincing when he realizes half his face is covered in come. He grabs the sheet and scrubs at it while Dylan laughs at him.

"Sorry about that, but man, we could've been having orgasms like that for years! What a waste!"

Tyler looks at Dylan--flushed and boneless and practically glowing--and is compelled to scoot up the bed and catch Dylan's smiling mouth in a soft kiss.

"Maybe we weren't ready for these kinds of orgasms two years ago. You were basically a dainty waif then, so an orgasm like this may have destroyed you."

"Whatever, you freakish troglodyte!" He pushes Tyler onto his back and sits on him, playful expression turning serious. "So. Here we are. Sweaty and naked and...really, disgustingly sticky."

"Yep." Tyler runs his hands over Dylan's shoulders, kneading at the muscle in his arms. His eyes are steady on Dylan's though. "And I feel pretty great. How about you?"

"Couldn't be better. In fact, I don't believe I've ever been better. In my life. Ever." 

They decide to keep their magical orgasms a secret, even if it's the worst kept secret, ever. 

 


End file.
